[ddc] take a deep breath and let it go [tag; clementine]

Oh boy, here we go again. Carson's eyes rolled as once again he found himself having the 'what are we doing talk' with yet another girl. "Look I was clear with you from the beginning so just stop before you get all into your feelings and assume I care, because I don't." He gave no f**ks and she wouldn't be the one to make him. He got tired of girls putting themselves out there for him to do with what he chose and then expect something more from him. He doubted there ever was a girl that could hold her own with him and keep him on the tip of his toes while doing it. His shoulders lifted as he shrugged to show how much he really cared about this girl, whatever her name was. It was a quick dip into her more scared places and it had been nice but it was over and he didn't have time for the feelings she wanted to express.

Wham!

Being slapped always hurt, even when he knew it was coming. The slow smile that crept its way to his lips gave him an almost sinister look.  His already dark eyes seemed to darken as his jaw was clenched tight. "You know if you weren't a girl I would have knocked your head off." He said in a tone that let her know her gender was all that kept her safe. Once again he had left a girl confused about her feelings and wanting to change him. It was never going to happen. He liked things the way he liked them and trying to change that wouldn't be good for anyone. Not even if it was for the better. "Now, you can scamper off and go tell someone who gives a f**k. It was nice you know f**king you but now it's not fun anymore. I'm going to move on." His hand rose to rest over his heart as he gave her an apologetic look just for ego "You should too...I told you I'm not good for you." He didn't wait for a response, he simply turned and walked away. Maybe next time she wouldn't be so giving.

It was like deja vu. He spun on the tip of his loafers to walk in the opposite direction, glancing at his watch. He still had time to party before he had to think about going home, great. Maybe he could end his night with someone instead of leaving them behind. Strong hands moved to fix his vest, undoing the two buttons that held it securely closed as he got closer to the thumping music. The street beneath his feet came to life and told him he was in for a wild night. The flyer had been handed to him as he moved along the streets of London, a one night only party where your wildest dreams came true. That sounded like the best place in the world. He liked the way this club advertised itself.

Carson stopped and watched as a girl he was sure he had seen before was having trouble getting inside. He grinned at the way the world worked. Sliding his hands into his pockets he walked over to the door, flashing a smile at the man who was denying people's entrance. Reaching into his vest he pulled his invitation from the inside pocket showing the man. It was a good thing he had been there a week prior and knew that he might need it tonight. "I told you I would be a little late love, you didn't get my message did you?" His arms slid around the girl who looked annoyed with her current situation. "Come on, it won't happen again." And as if he was royalty the door was opened for him and Carson led the girl inside. The dull pulsing grew louder as they walked deeper into the barely lit hallway. Carson reached out to push the door open and he grinned as the club before him came into view.

The lights were pulsing to the music. The dance floor was filled with moving bodies and the women oh the women were barely wearing anything at all. "Happy hunting." He leaned to whisper to the girl before he slipped into the room, headed straight for the bar. He was going to have a good time tonight, maybe even grab a snack before his main course. Leaning against the bar dark eyes washed over the crowd looking for his lasted catch of the day. Hmmm, so many choices.

@Clementine Russell

Jessalyn had wanted to come to London for the weekend. To shop and do brunch-y things. In exchange for her agreement to that whole principle, Clementine had taken it upon herself to leave their hotel at about half twelve in the morning on the Friday evening they'd arrived. If she was going to survive two more entire days of Jessalyn's antics, she was going to take out a little time for herself.

Framlingham wasn't exactly in an urban area. That said, during the summer, she couldn't go out much. These rare opportunities were something she was glad to be afforded. It was a special occasion in itself to be able to walk down the street and be able to just waltz into a club. Clementine shivered a little inside her leather jacket and pulled it tighter around herself, cursing under her breath and wishing, just a little, that she'd worn something more than a crushed velvet dress. It was pretty to look at, but it wasn't very warm. Oh well. Maybe it would get her some free drinks. She was even wearing makeup to look a little bit older. That would work, right? That would be fine. It would all work out.

She chewed on the inside of her lip, pondering as she walked down the street and eyeing each clubfront to decide which one she wanted to go into.  Some very pronounced thumping and obnoxious flashing lights prompted her to come to a halt, boots scuffing on the concrete. This was the one. The Gryffindor inhaled deeply, putting on her best I'm-actually-seventeen-please-don't-look-at-me face, and marched right toward the door. A large, meaty hand landed roughly on top of her head, pushing her the other way. Clementine opened her mouth, ready to protest, and the bouncer grumbled, "No invite, no in."

"Oh, I must've dropped it back there. Just let me in, please? My boyfriend's waiting inside for me and I really can't afford another fight. He already thinks I'm cheating on him with our next door neighbor," Clem lied effortlessly, gesturing animatedly with her hands.

The waltzing was proving a little more difficult than she'd anticipated.

Clementine gritted her teeth and smiled at the large bouncer, who was maybe two feet taller than she was. At least. Probably more than that. He was a big ol' boy, now, wasn't he? How unfortunate for her. There was no way she was going to be able to get past him. Maybe she could sneak in underneath his legs? Would he notice that? Shit. This was going to put her in a foul mood and Jessalyn would be able to sniff out her discontent from a mile away. Then she'd have to confess to her activities and everything would be a thousand percent more hellacious for everyone involved. She'd be trapped in the city with a grumpy sister who exclusively shopped in little boutiques with faux French names and Yankee Candle.

Her frustration rose and felt like it was going to bubble over while she considered and exhausted her options all at once, and then a pair of warm hands were sliding 'round her waist, causing her to jump about a mile. Her brow crumpled into a pronounced frown and she was utterly confused for a moment until it dawned on her. This was it. This was her in. "Uh, yeah, owl must've gotten there after I'd already left. Honey." She smiled sheepishly. God, she'd be a terrible actress.

Clementine resisted squirming away as he ushered her inside, the places where he'd touched her burning. This was the weirdest thing that had maybe ever happened to her. The original frown reappeared and she barely paid attention to the flashing lights and music that signified a night of freedom. The only thing she could think about now was this mysterious stranger and where he'd come from. Who was he? Why had he helped her? Had she seen him before? All questions she fully intended on asking.

And then he left.

What the hell?

"Hey!" She shouted after him, cupping her hands around her mouth. Not that it did any good. It was much too loud; her voice soaked right into the bodies around her. "Hey, wait!" She yelled again to no avail. She was going to have to run after him, wasn't she? So she did. Her hands parted the people around her like an ocean and she ignored the unhappy grumbles of the drunken people she was disturbing. Out of breath, she finally reached the bar where the boy was perched. He didn't look much older than she was. "What was that? Who are you? Why did you do that and then run away from me?" It all tumbled out very quickly.

He didn't move from his spot as he caught the eyes of a girl on the dance floor. He watched her moved all the while she watched him looking at her. It was a fun game of cat and mouse, one he loved the play. They were always the girls who he have his way with. They were just so willing that it was hard to resist. His brow lifted as an invitation and he watched as she came towards him. When she paused the confusion settled in, what had just happened? Damn, was he losing his touch? And then he heard her, whoever she was from the door, speaking to him. Carson turned to look at her a smirk playing on the edge of his lips as his eyes danced along her frame. Well, she was pretty. He hadn't actually looked before but now that she was in front of him -- questioning him -- he could see that she was actually a girl he'd go for.

"What was what? Me helping you while your were clearly failing? Oh, it was just me in a giving mood." He looked back out at the dance floor and noticed the girl was no longer there. With a sigh his body turned to give this girl his full attention. Fine, he would talk to her. At least for a bit or until he grew bored. "You ask a lot of questions, you know." A hand lifted to signal the bartender. He needed a drink. A hand rose to run down the front of his vest as he contemplated actually telling her his name. It wasn't like she would see him again, now was it? "Carson. My name." It was hard to talk over the music as it always was in clubs which the young Ravenclaw liked. He had no time for petty conversation and more time for actions that gave him the results he wanted.

"I didn't run away." Here he shrugged. "I walked to the bar, beautiful." He turned as the bartender finally appeared. "My usual and whatever the lady is having." He reached out to stop the man from moving. "Start a tab." With that he gave her his full attention. "So, do you always struggle to get into club or was this just an off night for you?" His brow arched as he tried to fight the smile that threaten to appear. It was amusing when the ways of women failed to help them. Hell, even more so when he was the man who rescued them. He wasn't the nicest or the most understanding person. He was a bit more on the do what you will and forget what anyone else would think kind of guy. He lived on the edge and dared someone to push him over.

"It's not every night I see a girl having such a hard time I feel inclined to help." A tip was placed on the bar next to his drink, his eyes were trained on her and he wondered for a moment. He was trying gauge if his night would get lucky in her presence or if he would find himself on the hint again later in the night. "So a thank you is in order I believe." And so started his favorite game, he wondered if she was willing to play mouse for him.

A distinct feeling of slithery ick rolled down her back while she listened to him talk. Ugh. Both thankful for and bemoaning her intuition, Clementine knew immediately there had been a reason she'd gotten weird vibes from him. He seemed like a jackass. Anything further than a first impression remained to be seen, of course, but she wasn't usually wrong about these things. Those people skills were hers to behold, whether or not she wanted them. Maybe that was why everyone pegged her the social butterfly and didn't exactly know she had deep-seated reservations about most human interactions. They just weren't trustworthy. Clementine wanted to trust them, of course, but there were ramifications to that -- including getting hurt. Badly.

Having recently been burned by such a scenario, her walls were built all the way up and there were only tiny holes for very, very specific passers-by. As he blathered on, it was becoming clear to her that he was unlikely to become one of those specific passers-by. No. He was one of the ones that got flaming rocks shot at him from the cannonball stations on top of the wall.

"Failing? I'd been there all of two seconds before you interrupted my spiel," Clementine retorted, eyeing him. He wasn't bad-looking, but his whole essence just emanated arrogance. She could be confident, sure, even a little cocky, but she was open to being humbled and certainly didn't pull metaphorical body parts out of her metaphorical pants to assert her dominance to total strangers. It was all so over-the-top. And beyond unnecessary, if she were to add. "Wow," She began again, slight sneer twisting her mouth, "Thank you. Man, I dunno what I'd do without your gifts. Probably just, you know, live my life exactly the way I was going to previously to receiving them, but it's the thought that counts, right?"

Perhaps she was being rude.

It was kind of fun. Good outlet. She couldn't exactly be rude to the people she quite wanted to be rude to -- they weren't here. And this guy, Carson, he was. And he was giving her a reason to be.

"Whiskey straight, please." Clementine nodded curtly to the bartender and turned back to Carson, grinding her teeth absently while she assessed more of the situation they were in. "I'm Clementine. Clem is fine, too. Not really an off night, just -- I'm not in London often." She admitted. She was wholeheartedly and completely uncomfortable with the creepy pet names. If he called her by one of them again, she'd confront him about it. There were almost too many annoying things to bug him about at once, so she'd have to save some nagging for later.

"It's not every night a guy helps me into a club and buys me one drink and expects my undying, eternal gratitude. You get me, bigshot?" Her eyebrows rose and she lifted the glass just slightly toward him before she took a long gulp. "Cheers." Her voice was a little rougher after that. Thank you, whatever deity that exists, that alcohol is a thing I can consume regularly.

He had nearly stopped listening when she started to speak, so used to tuning girls out while the rambled on about this or that which didn’t matter because it was never important. They always wanted to nitpick and nag, it was just a thing that women did. Had he stopped listening he would have missed her retort. His lips twitched as he chuckle, lifting a hand to push his hair back from his face. “You’re right, it is the thought that counts.” He was intrigued, suddenly curious about this girl. “But excuse me for thinking you needed my help, because that’s the most unheard of thing in the history of the world.”

No one had ever been rude to him in return. It was a new kind of feel for the Ravenclaw. He wanted to go back and forth with her. She wasn’t someone who would take his crap, rare. He wished he could be nicer, that he could tell the white lies that others told but then he wouldn’t be himself. Carson wasn’t friendly and he didn’t want to be. He misused girls and pretended that he didn’t care. There had been a few that had gotten past his tough exterior to see the affectionate person her could be. Chance has stolen a glance and Davina had made him never want to show it to the world again.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a liquor girl.” He cleared his throat, trying to make his deep voice low as it vibrated in his chest. “Girls usually order the drinks with the fruity names.” He frown a bit as he thought about how disgusting one might actually be.  Clementine. “Clem.” He gave her a half smile, which was basically the only smile he could give. “Welcome to London, again.” Maybe. He still wasn’t sure. So far he was amused and intrigued so he wasn’t lying. The Ravenclaw just couldn’t be sure he prolonged company would continue to grow on him or irritate him like most girls.

He didn’t have time for the mundane process that came with meeting new girls. He hated knowing the small details and loathed to be touched. Still they wanted to tell him the little things and find reason to lay their hands on him. Outside of intimacy he couldn’t handle the way being touched made him feel, uncomfortable. Maybe for the right person it might be okay but that person had yet to surface. “Well if you asked me it seems like a pretty lucky night for you.” He smirked softly. “It doesn’t necessarily have to be undying and eternal, simple gratitude would be nice.”

He lifted his glass of scotch to her whiskey before taking a nice sized drink. “To lucky nights.” His glass was rested on the bar as he turned to look out at the people on the dance floor. He had gotten used to the music, it wasn’t as loud. His deep voice cut through the noise like a freshly sharpen dagger. “You’re not like the girls I know.” She wasn’t, it was what kept him there talking to her. Any other night with any other girl and he would have simply walked away. He wouldn’t have wasted his time even learning her name. But this wasn’t that, it was something completely different.

“Their all soft spoken and don’t have very good comebacks for my rudeness. It’s tiring, always being around the same kind of people.” He looked at her, brow arched. “Under different circumstances we could have probably been friends.” Until they inevitably shagged, he could only presume.  Then he would toss her aside like the other girls with no regard for her hurt feelings. Or maybe he wouldn’t because after all she was different.

"Really?" Clementine asked skeptically. Wouldn't have pegged her for a liquor girl? What would he have pegged her for, then? She didn't mind a cosmo every once in awhile when she was getting her priss of a sister shitfaced, but when someone else was buying and she was alone, of course she was going to go for a nice scotch. It would be silly of her not to take advantage of that opportunity when it presented itself. Ogden's wasn't bad, or anything -- but even Clementine grew tired of the lingering taste of cinnamon and liked something else. Apple, honey, vanilla. Those were all notes she really, really enjoyed in her whisky. A nice hot toddy in the winter, too? Oh yeah. She'd developed her taste to that, certainly. "Not sure what else you could've pegged me for. Did the eyeliner and the leather throw you off, or?" She made a face.

When the bartender served them the alcohol, her stomach did a flip-floppy thing. She was positive she shouldn't be so excited about receiving alcohol underage at a bar by herself, but, such was life. She supposed she was accompanied by this fellow now, but did he really count as company? If he said another thing about it being his lucky night, Clementine would be just about ready to dropkick him out of that seat. She sort of already was as it currently stood.

"I'll gladly be thankful for the whisky -- but you should know, Carson, that if it's anyone's lucky night, it'll be mine and not yours. Not a mutual sort of thing. You feel me?" She asked him. Clementine was not normally so rude first off, but he was giving her the heebies and she wanted to be sure to curb his enthusiasm before he got too carried away with himself. He seemed to romanticize his own control of things. She wasn't sure how often he got his way or didn't, but she was almost certain she was even more obsessed with controlling how things went than he was. It'd be a change of pace, most definitely, if he wanted to continue to keep her in his company.

She had to laugh when he mentioned being around the same kinds of people, though. Clementine had a lot of friends. Only a few of them stood out -- a few relatively speaking, anyway. Like, less people than she could count on both her hands had had a really distinct impact on her life. She understood what he was saying. "Yeah, I understand that. You ever think that maybe it's just your vibes that you're putting out? Or that you're boring?" The blonde smirked at him, taking another swig of the delicious amber liquid sitting in her hand. "I'm kidding. Mostly. Where are you looking for the people you spend time with? In bars? Did you go to Hogwarts?" She asked. He did look sort of familiar.

He gave a chuckle. “No, you look great.” His hand rose to wave around the area they were in. “Girls that come hear usually order something with a fruity name and like twelve million things in it.” Those were the girls he was forced to pick up at the end of the night. Strange how he knew what kind of girl he wanted but didn’t actively set out to find her. He was afraid that his hard exterior would leave him alone.  He couldn’t give his heart over to another person to destroy could he? No, it would make his father think him weak. “It just surprised me that you order a real drink.”

He laughed, a rarity, his lips curving up into a smile as he lifted his glass. “Touché.” He took a sip, resting the glass against the black countertop. His long fingers twined together as he looked at his girl who was different than any he had ever met. It made her intriguing. It made him want to be himself because she was not going to all the façade he wore so regularly.  “I can be a jerk.” His shoulders lifted in a shrug. His chocolate brown eyes shifted from her to the dance floor. “It’s a bit of a habit and it suits these places well. “

He looked back over at her. “I know it’s probably me.” He would tell her the whole sob story of how his mother used to do unsavory things for money. How his father hadn’t wanted him until he showed potential. He could explain how his home life had been bitter and broken and it had shaped and molded him into the rude boy before her. But why? Why would she care about why he was the way he was.  His hands unclasped so that he could pick up his glass, twirling it and watched the golden brown liquid twirl.  “I have a hard time showing the better parts of myself.” Again another shrug.

“Psst, a bar would be better then where I actually find girls.” He looked out at the dancefloor again, sighing as he said, “I attend Hogwarts. The girls there aren’t like the girls I picture myself with.” He lifted his glass to his lips as took a long drink before motioning for the bartender once more. “What about you? Did you go to Hogwarts?”

"Well, thanks, but I'm not most girls." She pointed out matter-of-factly. She wasn't going to exalt him for complimenting her, either. He was already skating on some pretty thin ice. Clementine shrugged. "I don't know that there's a fake drink, but stronger drinks are just my go-to. Get the job done faster, you know?" She mused, finishing off the first glass of whiskey and sliding it toward the other side of the bar. Maybe he'd buy her another one. If he wouldn't, she could seek that help elsewhere. That would be no issue. It wasn't usually, anyway.

She was kind of thankful Jess wasn't here, though, because even though there was so much more to her, Carson would've branded her like one of 'those girls' and she'd have stomped off in a huff. Or stumbled off in a huff. Jessalyn was an incredibly lightweight drinker. It was funny, the little sorts of contrasts between them. "Frilly drinks have their time and place. If I'm looking for a sugar high or something really fruity and tasty, I won't say no to one of those. If I'm looking to get trashed, probably not gonna go there first." She wasn't sure why she felt like justifying herself to this guy. Maybe it was her Gryffindor spirit that felt obligated to justify all girls who were absent because they weren't there to combat his stereotypical comments.

He had... a hard time showing the better parts of himself? Yikes. This was venturing into some deep shit territory that she hadn't exactly worn the right shoes for. How was she supposed to curb this conversation without looking like a complete asshole? Delicately. Smartly. Okay, Clem, you can do it. Just put a carrot in front of his mouth like that one weird donkey story, right?

"And where do you find those girls?" The blonde latched onto that bait instead and leaned over on the bar, attempting to look genuinely interested -- and she sort of was. She liked to know things. Clem felt like most people liked to know things. "Actually, uh," Then she sat up straighter and diverted her big brown eyes to the floor, clearing her throat roughly. "I go. To Hogwarts." She closed her mouth and swallowed.

“I didn’t mean…” he paused, he wasn’t the type to apologize or justify, had never been. He’d almost explained himself even though he knew it wasn’t needed, not in this situation. “Being your own person is hard, people conform out of fear or to give the false illusion that their someone else. Once more he laughed but this time Carson nodded, “Right. I always go for scotch.” His hand lifted to signal the bartender, two long fingers extending as he order for them once more. “I can see the appeal though, get drunk but not totally trashed.” Which he had learned girls like to avoid. They didn’t want to wake up the next day with regrets or lack of memory from blacking out. Maybe the fruity drinks had been made for just this purpose, maybe.

He watched her foot a moment before finishing off his drink, glancing up as a fresh set of drinks were sat down. “No I get it, it just took me by surprise. I’ve been here a few times and things are always the same. The girls are always the same and never order anything risky. There isn’t really anything wrong with those drinks I just never saw them actually giving someone a nice buzz.” His shoulders rose once more in a shrug. He knew he couldn’t fin my judge without having tried one himself, that would be wrong. Not to say that Carson ever did the right thing. Making bad choices had become an art of his, something he did with grace. It was easier to be reckless and impulsive then to actually consider the outcome of his actions.  Who really had time to think about such things when life was shooting by so quickly? He'd like to meet the man who found joy in such things.

His brows lifted, lips twitching at the corners. He wasn’t the only Hogwarts student out and about during the late nights looking to have a good time. “Seriously?” He chuckled, “Never would have guessed that.” As he looked at her he wondered why he couldn’t place her face but he knew why. He wasn’t the most social ands his bad attitude did nothing to help with making friends. “Gotta say I have never wanted to leave a place so bad.” He couldn’t wait to graduate,  to be in charge of his own life. “Let me guess…” his lips pursed, “Gryfinndor?” Her words had been too sharp to be a Hufflepuff and he would have known if she was a Ravenclaw being one himself. He had a fifty-fifty chance of being right. “I never thought I would run into another student…” she didn’t look like a student, she didn’t look very old but she didn’t look as if she attended Hogwarts.

“You’ve been here before?” He had frequented a lot of bars and clubs, drinking away his sorrows and doubts. “I’ve only been a couple times.” His glass was lifted for a drink, the warmth washed over him as gentle as a wave against the shoreline. A few more drinks and he would have the right kind of buzz, he would go home satisfied and relaxed, drinking always did that.